Still not Gay
by TheFellowshipOfOreos
Summary: Sherlock and John are walking back home from a case late at night in terrible weather. It's cold, there's a lot of wind and there are no cabs in sight. What's worse is that John had forgotten his coat at home and was slowly freezing to death. Sherlock then makes a startling offer. Johnlock, one-shot!


As Sherlock and John walked down the street towards their flat at around 11 P.M, the wind kept on blowing in their direction mercilessly.

The detective pulled his collar up to fight against the piercing wind and walked with his hands in his pockets, where they were somewhat nice and warm. His long Belstaff coat protected him against the frigid cold and although his curly locks of hair took a pounding, he remained unscathed by the weather. The only way you could tell that he was a bit affected by the temperature was the way his cheeks flushed pink on his cheekbones.

John, on the other hand, did not have a warm coat like Sherlock did on that freezing evening.

He had rushed out of the flat with nothing more than a jumper and a sweater when Sherlock had texted him a location and time. Fueled by adrenaline, he had ran out without even bothering to check the weather for that night, which had predicted low temperatures and high winds.

John's ears, nose, and cheeks were flushed pink with the cold and the exertion of walking. He had to walk a little faster to match up with Sherlock's long strides and fast pace; his legs were shorter and he wasn't equipped with lengthy limbs like the detective was.

He dug his hands deeper in his trouser pockets and sighed against the wind for what seemed like the fiftieth time.

"Why couldn't we have hailed a cab?" he asked again, turning to look at Sherlock as they kept on walking. "It's bloody freezing."

"A cab at this hour of the night might be hard to find," Sherlock explained, his breath making little puffs of vapor in the air. "And we'll wait too long for one to come find us. We might as well just start walking and hope that we see a cab along the way, or freeze to death on the sidewalk waiting for one. Besides, it's good exercise and walking gets your blood pumping; you won't even feel the cold."

"Speak for yourself," John mumbled.

Sherlock stopped walking and turned to John.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"Well whaddya think?! I left the flat without my coat, scarf or gloves. I'm only wearing one jumper and a sweatshirt and I can't even feel my ears. I'm pretty sure I must've lost them a while back."

Sherlock blinked for a few times, running his eyes over John's face. Suddenly, he opened his Belstaff coat, undoing the two flaps and the belt that held it closed and gestured with his hands to John.

John looked perplexed. He stared for a while before he looked at Sherlock quizzically. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you've opened your coat, which is a really stupid thing to do, seeing as it's bloody freezing out here and you're only wearing that damn dress shirt under it. Close it back up, you'll get pneumonia." John blew in his hands in an attempt to warm them up.

"Come here, John," Sherlock said, gesturing towards his warm body again.

"What?"

"You know I hate repeating myself. If you stay like that, you might catch a cold."

John hesitated.

"People might talk, Sherlock."

"They'll talk more if they find you frozen to death on the side of the street."

John managed a little smile before he moved towards the detective. As soon as he made the first step, Sherlock gently guided him closer to his body and wrapped the coat around him, sandwiching the shorter man against himself and the coat.

John moaned in pure bliss as he was surrounded by the warm atmosphere of Sherlock's body. The detective was practically _radiating_ warmth dammit; he was like a personal heater on legs. His heart beat steady and fast against John's upper back, and he smelled of tea and chemicals and John could feel himself relaxing as soon as he was embraced in Sherlock's arms.

_Not gay though,_ he reminded himself for the hundredth time.

Sherlock blew soft puffs of warm air around John's neck, pulling his arms momentarily away from the doctor's body to remove his own blue scarf. He wrapped the scarf around John's nose and neck, surrounding him fully so that he couldn't feel the cold biting at his skin.

After standing like that for a while, Sherlock bent down to whisper in John's ears. "Alright?"

"Hmm," John murmured drowsily. "You're really warm."

"I know."

"Cocky bastard," John mumbled, snuggling closer and closing his eyes for a bit.

"I know that too," Sherlock replied, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"I wonder what people would think if they looked outside their window and saw us like that in the middle of the street."

"You care too much about what other people think, John."

John didn't answer and instead huffed an angry breath meant to discourage Sherlock, only to have it muffled by the scarf around his mouth.

They stood like that for a while, until it became too hot and sweaty under Sherlock's coat.

"Are you alright now?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah," John answered, reluctantly pulling himself away from the warm body. "Yeah. Thank you, Sherlock."

The detective hummed in response and fastened his coat closed again.

"Let's keep walking, then," John said. "We shouldn't be really far from - "

He looked around for the first time, finally realizing exactly where they were.

**They were right underneath their own window at Baker Street.**

He stood dumbfounded for a second, staring unbelievably at their door, not believing that after all this time they were **right there**. They could've opened the door at any time and rushed into the warm flat with no problem but instead, they stood outside in the freezing weather for a good 15 minutes.

_Sharing a coat together. Hugging? _

_Touching._

Sherlock undoubtedly had something to do with this. He probably was aware of their location all this time too and had chosen not to tell John.

Where was he, by the way?

John turned around to look for Sherlock, only to notice him gone. The door to 221B was open and the lights were on in the flat, and John looked up to their window to see Sherlock staring back at him with a faint smile on his face.

He stood there, staring at Sherlock and back at the door until a smile formed on his face too. Now, all he wanted was to get inside, have a cup of tea with Sherlock and try to warm up again.

_Still not gay though,_ he told himself again.


End file.
